


Mirror Image: How Much?

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys in Chains, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Banshee </p><p>A slave's Point of View (follow up to How Much)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror Image: How Much?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--
> 
> Notes: It is all Mac's fault! A while ago Mac sent out a post to the list using the line that started with "How much for the short one?" and things just got out of hand from there. Thanks, Mac. Also thanks to Thia for the wonderful beta. Trust me none of you would want to read this if she hadn't gone over it first. Your doing great Thia! And lastly thank you Susan. Your comments got me thinking about this AND what what might happen next. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, so on and so forth 
> 
> Feedback: If you feel so inclined I would be delighted. If not, that's okay too. Just remember, I can't get any better until you speak up and let me know what worked and what didn't.

The silent sound of misery hung in the air like an oppressive thing. Though slaves of every size, species, and sex imaginable were represented here, some a little more then others, it was strangely quiet. Only the occasional sounds of a body moving, a chain shifting were heard from the restrained slaves that lined the serpentine walls of the holding pits.   
  
The only other sounds were that of slavers and guards making their rounds. From time to time buyers were led though, though that was not all that common. Most of the slaves heading for the auction block here were usually to be sold in mass, or section blocks as the slavers called it. Individual selling was unusual. Most slaves that made their way to these holding pits were undesired for some reason. Perhaps they were sickly or injured. Some had been brought here because they were thought to be unable to bring a suitable price on their own. Many were slaves that were simply past their prime. Of course problem slaves also accounted for their fair share, at least a third of all salves brought to the pits fell into this category.   
  
No matter how you looked at it, this was often the last stop for most slaves. The life of a slave was never easy, but if you came here you were at the end of the line. Buyers looking for slaves here were looking for cheap labor. Disposable labor. Workers for mines, heavy construction or labor work, something where conditions were often the worst around, and few lived for very long.   
  
All of this Qui-Gon knew, because for the last year he had been a slave, and for the last two weeks he had been chained to this spot on this wall. Jedi did not make the best slaves, as several slave owners had found out. Despite the use of force dampeners, pain amplifiers, drugs, and various other forms of control, he was deemed unsuitable for most slave uses. He knew too much to be trusted around any kind of really tools or equipment without constant supervision. Being devoid of the force didn't really reduce the amount of damage he could inflict if not constantly under watch.   
  
One had tried to use him as a pleasure slave, back when he still looked well fed and unmarked, but all the owner had gotten for his attempts was a broken back. It had been doubtful that man would ever walk again. Since that incident he had been watched and when time and again he displayed his unwillingness to follow even the most basic of orders he had finally been sent here. Classified as a problem slave, he was to be sold in a section block, most likely to a mining corporation that needed disposable workers. No, things were not looking up for the Jedi.   
  
Shifting from one foot to the other, Qui-Gon tried to come up with some way to keep his mind from blanking out. Not only did the force dampening collar around his neck cut him off from using the force in general, but it cut him off from the 'feel' of it at all. While the lack of contact physically made his senses seem dulled and sluggish, it also completely took away a very basic way he perceived the world around him. In many respects force had grounded his mind, his awareness, in the here and now. Without it, he felt as if he was adrift. The pits only made this sensation worse, with hours upon hours of nothing to do but stare at the walls.   
  
It was so easy to let one's mind go blank and drift here in this place. It wasn't that he had stopped looking for a way to get out of all this. By the force, at this point he would take any opening that came along! But unlike when he had first been caught he now knew such openings were so small as to be non-existent. The slavers in this pit were too prepared and careful. These men were, if one could pardon the term, professionals, their lack of hygiene and properly fitting clothing not withstanding.   
  
Feeling his mind beginning to slip into an almost comfortable haze, Qui-Gon shifted in his chains again. The result was immediate. Aches and dull throbbing pain coursed throughout the length of his long frame. Some were from old injuries acquired during his capture while others were new such as his recently broken arm. A good amount of the discomfort came from his inability to move around and some was simply an over all dull ache caused by lack of food and his body no longer able to draw on reserves to protect itself from the present conditions.   
  
He was trying not to rub at the deep ache that pulsed bone deep in his forearm, when he first heard the slaver coming down the twisting corridor. Listening without bothering to look up, the Jedi took this opportunity to relieve his boredom.   
  
"How much for the short one?" asked a cultured voice.   
  
"One hundred credits," came the slurred answer. The Jedi winced inwardly at the reply. Even after all his time as a slave, seeing this seen played out over and over, it never failed to amaze him that anyone could perceive life so cheaply. How could a life be traded for nothing more then a few credit chips?   
  
"For that!" exclaimed a third voice. "He is hardly worth twenty credits, let alone one hundred."   
  
"One hundred credits." The reply was delivered in the same flat tone as before, and the Jedi could easily imagine Kul, turning his lifeless brown eyes to the loud buyer. Such outbursts were useless against the slaver. Kul never rose to them, nor did he haggle over the price. The slaver was here for one thing and one thing only, to earn money.   
  
"Tulla, unless you have suddenly decided to purchase a slave, I suggest you hold onto your opinion about the merchandise," again the softer tones of a more cultured voice. Not only did this person seem to have a better idea of how things worked down here, the Jedi master now knew which was the buyer. This Tulla was probably nothing more then a tag-a-long.   
  
"But.." countered Tulla only to cut off by his companion's calm, "Hush."   
  
All talking stopped as the sound of feet on stone continued down the corridor. The pace was slow and interrupted several time, presumably as the buyer checked over the wears on display. The thought disgusted him and Qui-Gon was about to ignore the group until he realized that they were headed his way.   
  
There was the ever present first rush at the idea that someone was heading this way, that someone might take you away from this place, that there might be a chance to escape. In the past the Jedi master had chided himself at such thoughts. It was not likely that someone would take him from here to any place better. To some place different, worse, yes, better no. Still the initial feeling persisted every time a potential buyer came along. Waiting for the feeling to pass Qui-Gon collected himself, willing his heart to slow from it's rapid beat to a more regular one, and stood like all the other docile slaves.   
  
The trio came into view and unobtrusively he observed them. The slaver Kul looked much like he always did. He face pot marked, eyes dull, and clothing worn and dirty. The other two were both young human men in their early to mid twenties and dressed in basic flight suits. One was tall and slim, his body moving almost clumsy with its long limbs. Bright red hair cut short stood out from his head in all directions and looked more like a patch of red fur then real hair. His face was thin and both his nose and chin looked pinched off, as if his creator had decided not to bother with getting it right and simply finished the face in a hurry. Eyes, too wide for the face they were on, were a washed out color that matched the gray of flight suit he wore.   
  
The second man was shorter then the first, though he seemed more substantial then his companion. Unlike the other his face was well proportioned and pleasant enough to look at. He might have been described as average if it weren't for his eyes. Though the dim-ish light in the pits made it hard to discern the color, the eyes held everything the slaver Kul's did not. They were bright, warm, and more importantly alive. They moved over the slaves chained along the wall quickly, yet without missing a thing.   
  
"What about that one?" asked the second man as he came to stand before Qui-Gon. Holding perfectly still the Jedi felt the younger man's eye sizing him up.   
  
"Five hundred credits."   
  
"That is totally ridiculous," broke in the red head again. "Look at the man. He looks like he has been beaten, half starved, and smells like he hasn't been bathed in a month!" The thin face scrunched up in disgust at the last.   
  
"Tulla." The warning in the smaller man's voice was clear. Turning back from his companion the buyer turned back towards Qui-Gon studying him again. "What is this slave's work designation?"   
  
Kul moved in closer to check the number ID tag that hung from the collar around the Jedi master's neck. "Heavy labor, mining," he finally replied. "Possible low grade construction work."   
  
"Because of his size, I suppose," mused the buyer out loud. "Why the extra binders on the wrists and legs?"   
  
"It tried to cause some trouble when it was first brought in."   
  
"May I touch?" asked the buyer gesturing to Qui-Gon. The slaver nodded as the Jedi knew he would. A buyer could do most anything before acquiring a slave here so long as it didn't cause any further or permanent damage. Qui-Gon steadied himself not to flinch at the unwanted contact.   
  
When the hand touched him it was not exactly what he had expected. Instead of grabbing and pawing like he had been in the past, this man simply let his fingers skim over a shoulder and a collar bone, lightly testing the flesh beneath the tattered clothing, until they came to the collar itself. Continuing on, the fingers brushed against the collar nudging it on his neck. Suddenly, the buyer's arm jerked away,and a stunned look came over his face. The surprised glance the buyer gave his companion did not pass the Jedi's notice and he wondered for a moment what had caused the buyer's reaction. Quickly the buyer tuned back to the slaver. "What does that collar signify?"   
  
At the slavers raised eyebrow, the young man elaborated, "It's blue while all the others are standard gray."   
  
"It's a restraining collar."   
  
"Aren't they all?"   
  
"No, the others are just plain collars. The bluish ones like this mean his is telepathic, telekinetic, or such. The reddish collars like that one over there," said Kul pointing to a slave across the hall way, "Are pain enhancers."   
  
The young man seemed to ponder this for a moment before asking, "How exactly does the collar work?"   
  
"That is irrelevant." Once more the tone was flat and unforgiving.   
  
"He's right, you know, it is irrelevant," snapped Tulla. "We are here to purchase a bed-slave not some smelly working trash."   
  
"Tulla I never said I was looking for a bed-slave. I have never lacked for opportunities for night time companions. Perhaps I seek a different kind of slave."   
  
"Like what? You certainly don't have any need for a mining slave." Tulla glanced again at the Jedi and rolled his pale eyes in disgust.   
  
"Maybe he would be good as a body guard." The buyer turned back to Qui-Gon adding, "Goddess knows he has the size and body for it."   
  
"Oh, you are impossible! I don't know why I even came here with you. I can't believe I'm wasting what little leave time I have following you around on such a pointless endeavor." With that, Tulla turned and left. Qui-Gon didn't even bother to watch him go.   
  
The buyer studied him for a while more, he eyes again raking over every part of Qui-Gon's body. Tipping his head to one side as if listening to something the young man paused in his surveillance, and then the unexpected phrase fell from his lips. "I'll take him."   
  
The procedure of payment and talk of transmitters passed by the Jedi's notice in a haze, the phrase 'I'll take him' still echoing in his mind. It wasn't until two larger guards appeared next to him, their thick fingers undoing the chains that held him to the stone wall, that he snapped out of it.   
  
Somehow, somewhere along the way, Qui-Gon realized that he had truly expected to be sold in mass to some kind of large mining company. To be sold and put to work in a dark pit where he would quite possibly never see the light of a sun again. To be crowded in with others who were week and dying, perhaps to spend his last days surrounded by rocks what would become his tomb even before his body had died. He had never expected to get out of this alive, but then again there was still no guarantee that he would end up in a better place.   
  
Shuffling off in the direction indicated, his legs still chained together, with guards on either side, Qui-Gon caught the slavers' inquiry about a name for the paper work. Turning a corner the Jedi just barely caught the name of his new master: Obi-Wan Kenobi.   
  
  
  
[end]   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ideas, comments??? Let me know.


End file.
